


Tightly Wound

by Synstylae



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Hinted homosexuality, It's there bro I swear bro there's WLW in here bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 20:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synstylae/pseuds/Synstylae
Summary: The beginning of a long adventure through the growing pains of the Heathers beyond human comprehension





	Tightly Wound

The cool foggy morning of Sherwood casts a lovely gray blanket of clouds across the sky, humidity bleeding dew on to the surface of grass blades and window panes. There’s a chance of rain, but that was expected from anything you’d get from the shitty weather. The streets are silent aside from a few sideways honks of cars belonging to disgruntled white collar assholes. It’s the nice area of the neighborhood. 

The thrum of an engine dies down as it parks next to a red Porsche. It’s about 7:15 AM on an overcast Monday, a none too pleased Veronica picking her keys out of the ignition. It’s too early to be driving over to Heather’s house. _Do my makeup with me today_ , she told her, then she hung up without another word. Doesn’t she have Heather and Heather to help her with her makeup this morning? Why even _bother_ calling her over at this time, school starts too soon for her to make a meaningful dent in Heather’s menagerie of products. She flashes her eyes over the rearview mirror before pushing open the door of her vehicle. A silver Buick Century isn’t nearly the luxury of a Porsche, but there’s hardly any competitions she’s aiming to win.

The half-assed attempt at an outfit is a sorry sight- definitely made out of morning haze. She knew that the moment Heather saw her that all her clothes would be thrown off and replaced with Chandler’s “higher-end” ones. Veronica blearily blinks her eyes as she walks up to Heather’s porch and rings the buzzer, pinching her nose as she waits. Now that she thinks about it- why did she even need to come over? Doesn’t Heather have mirrors? Is it just a Veronica thing? What could she have done wrong though, she doesn’t think she was acting strange and there wasn’t anything that upset Heather as far as she knew. Is it boy prob-

“VERONICA!”

Heather’s shrill yell knocks Veronica out of her thoughts. There stands Heather Chandler, wreathed in a cherry red robe like an extremely pissed angel. Hips cocked and arms crossed over. She looks… not happy.

“What _took_ you so long? I called you ten minutes ago.”

Veronica rubs a finger over the seam of her eye as she yawns, “It’s seven in the morning, I can barely keep my eyes open without my coffee.” She sniffs, continuing to fidget with her face.

Heather just grimaces as she grabs Veronica by the wrist and tugs her through the door. A malaise lays over Veronica’s head as she walks through the winding halls of the house. The place is always so deathly quiet and cold. It’s a nice house, but an alien one. It’s just too rich for Veronica’s tastes, but she can say that about all the Heathers’… everything.

They arrive at Heather’s room with Veronica rubbing at her wrist. The whole walk was a blur with how tired she is. Heather points to a blue stool at her vanity desk, taking her own red seated one.

“Did you really-”

“No,” Heather snaps immediately. Of course she’d mention the stool first thing.

Veronica settles on to the stool with a placid expression, “Okay.”

Heather retrieves some lotions and begins to spread them on her face. Her expression is unreadable, which is rather concerning. Chandler doesn’t hide any of her judgments from anybody. What’s different about today?

Veronica tries to sneak some of the makeup lotion over to her side of the desk, tongue pointed out in effort. She can’t disturb Heather’s rhythm, she’s already _half-pissed_ at her for god knows what. Hopefully, she can just… sneak it on over to her side. Then she’ll redo all her shit with Heather’s help.

Her fingers graze over the bottle before feeling Heather’s graze over hers. She trudges her eyes over to Heather’s stormy ones.

Heather bites her lip, clawing back Veronica’s hand with every word she says, “Can you…”

Veronica quirks her brow, a weird blush coming over her face.

“Help me study for today’s pre-calc test?”

The tightly wound strings in Veronica’s head snap. Ah. Ahahaha. Of course it was just _test help_. What else would it be. She snorts a second after Heather’s confession, Chandler scrunching her brow before she even made a sound. 

“Are you _mocking me?!_ ” She demands.

“No- no no nononono.”

“Then why the fuck did you laugh?”

“I just- well, I thought it was some drama you had with somebody.”

Heather rolls her eyes before returning to her work, but not without a sneer.

“Whatever- Duke blew me off yesterday and wouldn’t pick up her phone so I worried about this shit all night,” she perks her nose, thankfully she wasn’t working on it, “It sucks ass. I _need_ to pass this.”

“I’m- sorry to hear that Heather, I could offer to help you?”

“I’ve _already_ asked you to help me,” Heather bares an annoyed sneer.

Veronica rubs the back of her neck as chagrin fills her face, “To be _fair,_ I got up like twenty minutes ago.” She sniffles, scratching the outside of her nose as she comes to the wonderful conclusion, “Shit, I forgot my notes at home, I’ll have to go back and-”

Chandler cuts her off, “Sawyer, we’re taking this test in an hour and you’re too much of a nerd to not have crammed it in your skull, just make it basic for me.”

“Alright, okay, fair,” she eases, beginning her lesson, “It all starts with the curvature of the lines...”

* * *

Chandler claps her tray down on the lunch table, settling on to the bench with her legs crossed.

“Hi Heather!” McNamara chirps, dropping her smile a tad when she notices how unseemly Heather’s acting.

Veronica winces at the tray, “How was the pre-calc test?” It doesn’t sound like it went very well. 

Duke sharply breathes through her teeth as she masks her face with her hands.

“It was _tomorrow_ ,” she spits bitterly, “Today was _AP chemistry_.”

“ _Shit_ , I’m sorry I forget to check your schedule, Heather,” Duke huddles over her own food, facing Chandler and failing to meet her eyes.

“You were _also_ supposed to help me study for the test yesterday, what the hell were you doing?”

“It was _family business_ ,” she states callously. Her expression hardens as she goes back to her food.

“ _Ah._ ” Heather pointedly replies, falling silent as she goes back to the rest of her food. She strikes her food with angry resignation. It’s weird for Heather to just give up on being angry at somebody. She _loves_ milking it until the person is kissing her ass or agreed to ten different favors.

Veronica tersely loosens her collar as she swallows the tension down her throat. Heather rubs Duke’s shoulders to console her, Chandler pouting from the other side of the table. Is… what is… family business to Duke?

McNamara picks up on Veronica’s confusion, offering her a forced comforting smile, “Heather’s father is just dealing with some people in his business and doesn’t have a lot of outlets.”

Veronica mimics Chandler to a T.

“ _Ah._ ”

“Duke-”

Duke puts up a hand, an unreadable yet definitely _do-not-fuck-with-me_ expression telling her, “You don’t have to say anything, V, you don’t get it anyway.” She rubs her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Everything about her is exasperated.

Chandler furrows her brow from across the bench but manages to keep her mouth shut. Grades plague her mind too much to make any jackass comments. Heather eventually drops her fork and forgoes eating at all.

“... How was the rest of your guys’ classes?” Veronica solemnly adds to the dead air. She fiddles with her fork in the meantime.

Duke speaks up first, “Law two is a bunch of overcomplicated bullshit, but you didn’t expect anything else, did you?” Her tray has already been pushed far away from herself. She doesn’t know why she even bothers to even get the food here. “I’m learning _allll_ the ways people can be brought to court, fucking hurray.”

“English is English, Veronica, you were there,” McNamara adds on, idly shrugging her shoulders.

Veronica tilts her head in acceptance. Yeah, that’s fair. She rolls her eyes around her head as she tries to figure out how to keep the conversation going.

“Is there anything I should be clearing my schedule for this weekend?”

“You _always_ keep your weekends free with us, dumbass. How do you expect to call yourself a Heather if you’re never with us?” Chandler bites, huffing into her next sentence. “Anyway, there’s always parties or shopping. I might have to ask around before we can come to any final decision on what to do. I’m sure some rich jock is throwing another party.”

McNamara rustles Chandler by the shoulder, bringing her over to whisper about something. In a very short one-sided debate, Chandler comes out victorious and nothing of it was said. Veronica lazily brings her eyes to both of them a couple of times.

“Don’t worry about it Veronica, there was just some… rich girl stuff to talk about!” Mac nods at the excuse, smiling dumbfoundedly.

Veronica, at least, can pick up on what a hint is and leave the subject alone. It can’t be anything too important, probably.

“So, another party this weekend then? Got anything you want me to do differently this time?” The Heathers always have something to say about Veronica’s… _performance_ at parties. ‘Be sexier’ ‘drink more alcohol’ ‘try to intimidate people’ ‘tease boys’. What does it matter, really? She’s a humble forger who’s found a place among the demons of high school. Do they _need_ a fourth Heather for something?

The Heathers glance over one another, curtly shaking their heads. “No, not really, just try not to be a massive dweeb and act normal,” Duke shoots, staring at the clock on the wall and feeling the seconds crawl.

 _“Oh no,_ Heather, I can feel all my nerdy tendencies boiling to the surface, I’m gonna start spouting off Princess Bride trivia and presidential facts,” she teases, giving herself one cocky heh over her own joke.

The bell’s clacker slams against its shell, shattering the little popularity bubble all four of them inhabited. Lunchtime is over after an agonizingly long thirty minutes.

“See you guys later!” Mac chimes.

The rest of the Heathers say their goodbyes as they begin their hikes to their classes.

* * *

“Go,” Chandler waves at Veronica.

“Excuse me?”

“Get the hell out of the bathroom,” Chandler snaps, pointing at the door. “We have to talk to Duke about her problem, and we aren’t gonna tell you every little thing about her issues.”

Duke shrivels at the bluntness of Heather’s words, but she handles it all the same of trying to let it wash over her.

“Well... okay?” Veronica backs out of the room, taking backward glances towards the door. She knows that Chandler was _upset_ at her but not this much, dear Lord.

Chandler hears the sound of Veronica’s footsteps echo through the bathroom, not daring to take her eyes off her until she hears the door clicks closed. With solitude and Heathers together, they start to talk.

“So, what did the fucker do this time?” Chandler kicks off, a glint of sympathy and reflection of anger in her eyes.

“It’s just… drama. I’m not being the ‘perfect daughter’ for him when I go out to rep parties. I’m not ‘social’ enough or something. Why do I have to be a social butterfly only at parties? He complains if I do anything above 5 decibels at home.” Duke huffs, crossing her arms over as she stares into the mirror. Fucking hypocritical jackass.

McNamara bites her lip as she considers what to say, “Did he… do anything?”

“If you mean he beat me, then no,” Duke retorts in a concerningly nonchalant manner. “It’s just-” she drags a hand down her face as she sighs, “Why is he getting so mad _now_ of all times? He didn’t give a shit about my _‘presentation’_ before.”

Chandler crosses her arms over, lazily shifting her gaze around the empty bathroom, “You’re almost an adult now Heather, he’s expecting more out of you- and your body.” She gives a snide smirk, “You should be more up for that sort of shit, and so should your legs.”

Heather sharply contorts her face, an indignant scowl spreading on her face, “You don’t know anything about my culture! Stop butting into my life with your ‘advice’. It’s not gonna get me anywhere in circles if I just start _fucking_ people.”

“I don’t know, Heather,” Chandler looks over her carefully manicured nails, “It worked for me.”

Duke opens her mouth but bites back down before any words can come out. She’s not going to win this, and even if she _begins_ to she’ll just be told to shut up.

“How was AP chemistry?” She deadpans.

“ _Shut up, Heather_.”

Heather shrinks. Exactly what she thought would happen.

Chandler raises her eyebrows the smallest amount over her easy victory, going back to tending her makeup while the other Heathers awkwardly amble around the tiles. Duke simply stares at her face in the mirror with Mac at her side in the very same mirror.

A minute of dead silence passes until Chandler decides to dig up the dead. “So, Roswell Rose Ball,” Heather remarks, clutching the rims of the sink as she looks over to Mac, “Why did you think we should bring Ronnie there?”

McNamara scratches her upper lip, presenting a shrug: “I don’t know! She’s just part of us now, and- it just felt natural? We’ve relied on her a lot to get away with stuff, Heather.”

“ _We_ have gone to that ball every three years, it’s _only_ held every three years. This will be our sixth one, and it’s in the same year of us becoming adults, you want _Ronnie_ to come with us to our coming of age ball?” Chandler scoffs, shaking her head. “I don’t want her getting in the way of all the dick I can get now. It’s like babying a toddler around wine and bullheaded jocks. Do _any of you_ enjoy hanging around her at parties.”

“I do,” Duke announces, pointlessly raising her hand to get credit for her answer.

“Chauffeuring her around parties or reading bullshit with her? You two love reading nerdy ass books together, but you don’t exactly do that at parties, do you?”

By Duke’s struggle to reply, Chandler can only pinch her nose. Apparently, they _do._

“ _Anyway_ \- my point is that Ronnie isn’t _one of us_. We can’t have her fucking up the party because of inexperience and an inability to get in bed,” she glares at Duke. “She’ll be fine studying the entire night anyway, it’s all she does in her free time besides masturbate, probably.”

The faint buzz of bathroom lights is flooded over with the sound of the passing bell ringing, Heather, Heather and Heather collectively looking at each other and realizing one singular thing: _Shit we don't have a hall pass_. Chandler darts out of the room and shoves open the door, someone hollering out in pain.

“Ow! The fuck?!” Veronica moans, rubbing her ribs as gently as she can. She reaches out for Chandler to pull her up, only for her to stand unmoving in the face of it all. McNamara is kind enough to pick her up off the floor.

“Why were you so close to the door?” Mac asks, scrunching her brow in mild confusion as she looks between her two friends.

She clamps her jaw shut, looking neither here nor there before she huffs and gathers the strength.

“I’m not ‘ _one of you_ ’?” She asks, quoting Chandler with such indignancy that you could only find in the Heathers themselves.

Heather’s reply is immediate, “No, you’re _not_.” It’s biting, Chandler not even trying to fight back the wide sneer that finds itself on her face. Though, she shakes it enough quickly enough as she revels in her words, snapping twice. “Hall pass, now. All three of us.”

“I’m not gonna make hall passes for people who don’t consider me their friend.” Veronica swallows those words thickly. Why does she even care if the Heathers are friends with her? Shouldn’t it make her happy that these assholes don’t even want to associate with her? She’s only in it for the social benefits. It was a contract, not a friendship. So why does it hurt to hear there’s… nothing between them?

Heather chuckles loudly and cruelly, “ _Ohhhh_ hohohoho, Sawyer, now that you’re popular, we can do _so many more_ things to you. You better not fuck this up now that you’re in with us. Shooting down an eagle is much more ceremonious than a lame duck.”

“I…” She fails to comment, sighing as she pulls out four pass tickets and a black pen, squiggling a signature unbelonging to her on them. Chandler snatches three out of her hand and dispenses them amongst the Heathers, Mac offering an apologetic smile as she heads off to her own class.

Veronica chews her lip. Where’s all this coming from? It’s so abhorrent and unexpected.

“Veronica!”

She shoots a look over her shoulder, only to see Ms. Fleming.

“Get to class!” As Veronica brings up her hall pass, she’s already dismissed, “Yeah, yeah, you _alllllways_ have a hall pass, just don’t be too late, okay?”

Veronica sighs, “Yes, ma'am!” and begins to head to her period.

* * *

~~_October 28th, 1989_ ~~

~~_October 29th, 1989_ ~~ _October 28/29th, 1989_

_Dear Diary,_

_Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy._

_Why does Heather hate everyone so much now, she’s been such an incredibly mythic bitch even to Heather and Heather. I understand having shit you don’t want to talk about but this is taking it to another level, Lord. There’s so much tension between everybody every time we’re next to each other before we’ve even done anything. What’s her damage?_

_Maybe she was just really frustrated with her test today? She went through a lot of effort- I mean, fuck,_ I _went through a lot of effort to teach her things about pre-calc that she won’t even use until Thursday. I’ll probably have to do it again Wednesday night/Thursday morning anyway. It was just… a lot I guess. I knew Chandler was a bitch but not like an asshole? I don’t know, I’m exhausted. I have my own physics test tomorrow. I’ve spent the last three hours looking over formulas but I can’t get the drama out of my head. Being popular sucks, and it’s just teenage bullshit in the group. I can’t imagine what it’s like when there’s actual shit going on._

_Why do I write diary entries before I go to bed. It’s technically tomorrow. But I guess I’m only recounting today? I’ve already fucked up the date twice so I’ll just say it’s both. Whatever. I’m going to fucking bed._

_V. Sawyer_


End file.
